


I Want to Hold You Tight

by stardropdream



Series: Let Me Be With You [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chobits, Artificial Intelligence, M/M, Minor Shiro/Kuron, Pre-Relationship, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 11:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19463185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: It's been several weeks since Keith, a poor mechanic living in the city, found an abandoned persocom in the trash. New, sudden expenses means that Keith needs to work more to make enough money for him and Shiro. It'd be fine if he just kept his head down and worked those extra shifts.Too bad Shiro just wants to help Keith, too, though.





	I Want to Hold You Tight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raitoningu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raitoningu/gifts).



> Fic request from [Sa](https://twitter.com/LStrikesArt), who asked for a continuation of the Chobits AU! There is a previous fic in this universe and likely you'll need to read that for this one to make sense. 
> 
> I didn't put it in the tags because I wasn't sure how to tag it, but please be aware that towards the end of this fic there is a **content warning** : there is a potentially upsetting situation regarding Shiro's consent during a sexual situation. Check the end notes for more details! 
> 
> Thank you to [Heather](https://twitter.com/hchanooo/) for reading this over!

Keith’s alarm starts blaring, loud and shrill, and Keith’s sound of distress is, quite possibly, even louder. It’s another day and Keith resents that fact tremendously: the morning has no right existing. 

“Shirooooo,” Keith groans, burying his face into his pillow, voice muffled, “can you please turn the alarm off?” 

The alarm cuts off mid-trill and his studio apartment floods with a gentler quiet. There are birds outside the window, flitting from tree branch to tree branch. The pipes are doing that weird clanking thing they’ve always done, so consistent it’s basically white noise. 

And Shiro’s moving around. Even with Keith’s eyes closed, he can tell that much. Shiro, despite his weight, is relatively quiet when he moves, barely making a sound as he walks. But Keith’s gotten good at listening for Shiro: one of the floorboard squeaks and he hears the swish of fabric. There’s the sound of a package ripping open and a bowl being moved from the drying rack to sit on the counter. 

Keith knows he can’t afford to drift back to sleep. He has a long shift at his uncle’s garage today— and he really, really needs the money— and he knows Kolivan will absolutely rip him a new one if he’s late for his shift, especially when he’s doing Keith a favor. So, with one last, mournful groan, Keith opens his eyes and props up on his elbow. 

“Good morning, Keith!” Shiro says, cheerfully. 

Shiro approaches him once he sees Keith’s eyes open, beaming. He’s wearing the apron Keith got him after the Unfortunate Bacon and Eggs Incident a few weeks ago. It’s a cute apron, one Shiro chose for himself: a creamy white with frilly scalloping and a big, wide tie for the bow in the back. 

“Hey…” Keith greets, smiling as Shiro comes closer. “Morning, Shiro.” 

Shiro’s holding the bowl Keith heard him moving earlier. As he gets close enough, he presents the bowl to Keith.

“I’ve made you breakfast,” Shiro announces.

It’s instant oatmeal. But it looks like Shiro’s poured cold water over it. The oats float around the water, uncooked. It looks unappetizing, but it’s definitely better than the rock-hard, midnight-black toast Shiro tried to serve Keith yesterday. Keith will count this as a step in the right direction, at least. 

“Oh,” Keith says, sitting up further and stifling a yawn. He takes the bowl from him. “Thanks, Shiro.” 

It really is just cold, uncooked oatmeal. At least that’s salvageable, unlike yesterday’s toast. There was no saving that horror-show and even now his apartment still smells vaguely of burnt bread. 

“I think you might need to heat it up first,” Keith suggests, gently. 

Shiro makes the face he always makes when he’s processing Keith’s words. His brow furrows and his mouth flattens into a thoughtful line. Keith always imagines that if Shiro had the ability to move his ears, they’d droop down like a dog’s. Even without that, he looks exactly like a kicked puppy. 

“It looks good so far, though!” Keith adds quickly, just as gentle. 

Shiro inspires that in Keith, really; he’ll be the first to say that he’s not a gentle person. Not by a long shot. But he can tell how hard Shiro’s trying and he wants to reassure him. He wants Shiro to know he’s doing a good job. The last thing he wants is for Shiro to feel like a failure. 

He can’t blame Shiro for the holes in his knowledge and his lack of experience, after all. It’s like Pidge told him, that first night they met: Shiro might not have his operating system or his user data from before he was rebooted, but his self-learning software’s still intact. Shiro’s learning more and more every day. The least Keith can do is help him. The world’s a complicated, stupid place, after all— Keith knows that well. 

“I’ll… heat it up, then,” Shiro decides with a nod and turns away from Keith, heading back to the kitchenette—

— and that’s when Keith finally notices that Shiro’s completely naked underneath the apron. 

Keith gets an eyeful of Shiro’s ass just as Keith’s hand slips out from underneath him and he just misses slamming his face against his headboard. 

“S- Shiro,” Keith gasps, cheeks burning hot as he covers his face with both of his hands. “ _Where_ are your clothes?” 

“Shii…?” Keith hears Shiro turn back towards him and dares to peek out from between his fingers. Now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious that Shiro’s only wearing the apron; his arms and legs are totally bare, noticeable even facing frontwards. 

“Your clothes…” Keith says. 

“You said that the apron would protect me from spills, Keith,” Shiro answers, expression puzzled. “Isn’t it even safer if I don’t wear my clothes at all? I don’t want you to have to replace more of them.” 

It’s true that ever since Shiro’s taken it upon himself to make Keith food, he’s destroyed his fair share of outfits due to both fires and stains. Keith isn’t sure if it’s a great idea for Shiro to continue trying to cook but then he also doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. Shiro always looks so happy whenever Keith eats his meals. And it does give Keith the chance to sleep in an extra few minutes each morning. 

Satisfied with his answer and Keith’s lack of response, Shiro continues to the microwave, places the bowl inside, and studies the number pad. Then, he shuts the door and sets the timer for six minutes. 

Yeah, Keith’s going to have to remember to stop that before Shiro totally nukes that oatmeal. Or burns the entire apartment building down. At least he didn’t leave the spoon in the bowl this time. Small victories. 

Keith finds his voice only as Shiro approaches him again and Keith can’t see his ass. “Shiro… If you hurt yourself, if you burn your skin—” 

“I cannot be burned,” Shiro reminds him. 

Keith fumbles a bit as he climbs out of bed, digging around through his own dirty clothes for something belonging to Shiro. “Right,” he mumbles to himself, “Well, if you _damage_ your skin…” 

“You’re worried,” Shiro remarks and frowns. He seems to deflate right in front of Keith, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve done something wrong again.” 

“No, no, you’re good,” Keith’s quick to assure, finding some of Shiro’s clothes and draping them out on the bed for Shiro to choose from. 

Shiro approaches him and when Keith turns around, Shiro’s stripped off his apron, too, and is standing there naked. Keith makes a strangled, punched-out sound and whips his head around so fast he nearly cricks his neck. 

“Um,” he coughs. He really, truly needs to learn how to stop blushing when it comes to Shiro. It’s getting to be a little ridiculous. 

“Shii…” Shiro murmurs to himself, reaching out and slipping on a pair of underwear. It’s pink and frilly, one of Shiro’s favorite pairs. Somehow, in that mortifying trip to the store, Shiro only wanted to pick out the lacey things and Keith was hardly going to say no. 

Keith makes sure that Shiro’s fully dressed again before he turns back towards him, clearing his throat and certain his cheeks will never stop being as pink as Shiro’s cute, frilly underwear. Shiro’s wearing simple trousers and a tight, clingy shirt that makes Keith want to die a little bit, but it’s better than him traipsing around naked and making Keith feel like a pervert. 

“Here, let me help you,” Keith says, taking up the apron and draping it over Shiro’s head, making sure it doesn’t snag on his ears. He knots the ribboned ties off for him. “There,” he says, smiling up at Shiro and patting him on the shoulders, “Perfect.” 

Shiro still looks unhappy, though. It pinches up his handsome face. 

Keith frowns, uncertain what’s causing Shiro distress. It’s never easy to tell with Shiro. Shiro’s still learning and while his language capacity’s increased tremendously in the weeks since he first woke up, he still sometimes struggles to express himself to Keith.

And that’s not even accounting for the fact that Keith isn’t really sure how persocom thought process works, in general. He supposes no one ever calls it _thinking_ , really. But seeing the way Shiro frowns, looking frustrated and concerned, it’s difficult for Keith to remind himself that Shiro’s only a computer, that he isn’t feeling anything at all— just responding to programing, to a string of code conditioned inside him. 

_Don’t mistake Shiro for human,_ Pidge warned him that first night they met, when Hunk promised to help Keith and called in a favor so Pidge would figure out what was going on with Shiro’s lack of data. _He’s a persocom, a machine. He’ll never be human, no matter how much you might wish it._

Keith didn’t have the vocabulary at the time to tell Pidge why the words bothered him, and he certainly wasn’t about to start arguing about persocom stuff with a persocom expert. But even now, remembering her words stings in a way Keith can’t express. 

“Hey,” Keith says, touching Shiro’s arm. “Shiro… What’s wrong? Can you tell me?” 

“Shii…” Shiro murmurs again, staring down at Keith. He looks at Keith’s hand on his arm and then back up at him. Then, after consideration, he parrots the gesture, touching Keith’s arm and then sliding his palm up to cup Keith’s shoulder. 

“Want a hug?” Keith guesses. 

Shiro perks up at that and, wordlessly, pulls Keith into his arms. He squeezes him tight, resting his chin on top of Keith’s head. Keith sighs and leans against Shiro’s broad chest, patting his back. 

“Better?” Keith asks after a beat of silence. 

“Shii!” Shiro chirps and squeezes Keith tight. Over Shiro’s shoulder, Keith watches the instant oatmeal boil over the rim of the bowl in the microwave. Above him, Shiro asks, “Do you work today, Keith?” 

“Yeah,” Keith answers, rubbing Shiro’s back absently, Shiro’s shirt bunching up under his fingertips. “Uncle Kolivan gave me the long shift today.” 

“You are working much more this week than last week,” Shiro observes. 

“Yeah. I’m taking as many shifts as Kolivan can spare,” Keith agrees. He’s always lived frugally, and he tends to save his money, but his spending’s certainly increased in the last few weeks since Shiro’s woken up. He needs the extra shifts. 

“Shii…” Shiro whispers. 

Finally, Shiro draws back from Keith. His hands linger on Keith’s shoulders, touching and squeezing gently. It’s a heavy, familiar weight. Keith still finds it strange in a way, to think that Shiro’s presence has become familiar, something Keith expects and welcomes each day. Keith smiles up at Shiro, cheered to see his expression less distressed. Shiro puzzles over Keith in turn, hands resting on Keith’s shoulders. He studies him with his head tilted to the side. 

“You are trying to make more money,” Shiro observes. 

Keith nods. “Yeah. Capitalism and all that.” 

Shiro tilts his head further at that statement, brow scrunching.

“Uh, never mind,” Keith says. Shiro’s only barely learned how to make oatmeal; he’s definitely not ready to learn what capitalism is. Keith laughs, lifting his hands and squeezing Shiro’s wrists. “I need a job to get money. If I work my job more, I get more money. Easy.”

“Easy,” Shiro repeats. He considers and then lifts one hand, patting Keith on the top of his head. “Keith, you are… doing good work.” 

Keith laughs. “Thanks, big guy. I think my oatmeal’s ready.” 

“Shii…?” Shiro turns his head towards the microwave and obediently trots over to it, opening it up. A puff of steam escapes and even with Shiro blocking his line of sight, Keith can see splattered oatmeal on the inside of the microwave door. 

Shiro turns towards him, holding the bowl of pulsing, overheated oatmeal and looking so incredibly proud of himself. Keith’s sure the bowl’s going to be shrieking hot if he even attempts to hold it. 

“Let’s, uh… let’s eat at the table?” Keith asks and Shiro moves towards the window where Keith has a little two-chair table set up. Shiro sets the bowl down at Keith’s customary seat and then sits opposite him. 

“Keith,” Shiro says after a moment as Keith waits for the oatmeal to cool down. 

“Mm, yeah?” 

“Keith,” Shiro says again, looking pleased with himself. He does that, too, sometimes— just says Keith’s name for the sake of saying it. It always makes Keith laugh, at least, and this time is no exception. He chuckles, resting his chin in his palm. 

“Shiro.” 

Shiro beams at him, as he always does when Keith returns the verbal gesture, and says, pointedly, “Eating breakfast is important, Keith.” 

“Ha, yeah, you’re right,” Keith answers, picking up his spoon and taking a tentative mouthful of the oatmeal. He burns the tip of his tongue and the oatmeal’s overly mushy, but at least it’s edible. Better than the Bacon and Eggs Incident, for sure. He smiles at Shiro. “It’s good, Shiro.” 

“I’m glad,” Shiro answers, smiling wide enough that his eyes crinkle at the corners. He’s still wearing the apron and the shirt Keith bought him last week clings to his biceps. Keith tries very hard not to notice that. 

Shiro insists on washing the dish for him once Keith’s finished but Keith supervises anyway, leaning against the counter and watching Shiro as he scrubs at the bowl far more thoroughly than Keith would have. 

Once he’s finished and set the bowl on the drying rack, Shiro removes the apron and hangs it on the hook next to the sink. 

“I’ll need to buy more dish soap soon,” Keith mutters to himself, eyeing the bottle next to the faucet. 

“Soap costs money,” Shiro says. 

“Yeah.” 

“Clothing costs money. Underwear costs money.”

“Oh, yeah,” Keith agrees. 

“That is why Keith must work,” Shiro deliberates. He tilts his head. “To make back the money you have spent.” 

“Hey, look, you’re learning about capitalism after all,” Keith says. He laughs to himself but Shiro continues to look concerned. “Hey…” Keith begins and stops. For a second, Keith thinks that maybe Shiro’s feeling guilty, that he’s worried about the money Keith’s spending on him. “Shiro?” 

“Should I get a job?” Shiro asks.

Keith laughs, thinking that Shiro’s joking. He shakes his head, fond and amused— Keith’s never known anyone with a sense of humor quite as weird and cute as Shiro’s. But Shiro’s mouth quirks down, thoughtful, and does not look pleased with Keith’s laughter as he so often does. 

“Keith, you should get ready for work,” Shiro says. “Or you will be late.” 

“Ah, damn, you’re right,” Keith says, glancing at the clock. He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Thanks, Shiro.” 

Shiro steps aside and lets Keith dive into his dirty piles of laundry, searching for something that smells less like days old sweat and is reasonably more presentable. Everything’s going to smell like motor oil by the end of the day anyway but the less often he can get his uncle to sniff disdainfully (somewhat literally) at him, the better. 

Once he’s ready, wearingly only slightly-crinkly clothes, he walks to the door. Shiro follows him and as Keith toes on his shoes, he turns back towards Shiro. 

“Okay…” Keith pauses, frowning. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself, Shiro?” 

He knows it isn’t the first time he’s asked it. It probably isn’t the last. But like all times before, Shiro merely tilts his head, considering the question. 

And then he smiles. “I’ll be okay, Keith. The window has a nice view of the street.” 

“Oh,” Keith says, half sigh and half question.

“Sometimes kids will wave at me,” Shiro says, cheerfully. “And there are always many dogs.” 

“You like dogs, huh?” Keith asks, more to himself. 

“You can always tell when dogs are happy,” Shiro answers. “They wag their tails and jump a lot.” 

Keith huffs a breath. “You’re cute, Shiro.” 

Shiro blinks at him, owlish. Again, Keith has the distinct image of Shiro’s ears perking up at the statement. 

Quietly, Shiro asks, “I am cute?” 

“Yeah,” Keith answers, smiling. 

Shiro ponders this, head tilted enough that his hair’s starting to fall into his eyes. Finally, Shiro asks, “Is Keith also cute?” 

Keith snorts, cheeks turning pink. “Oh, no, definitely not.” 

He should have known this would backfire, though, because Shiro shakes his head and says, with confidence: “You are cute, Keith.” 

“If you say so,” Keith murmurs, sighing. He stretches, lingering for one more moment, before he resigns himself to his fate and turns towards the door, shuffling a few steps. “Okay. I should get to work.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says before Keith can reach for his door. 

Keith pauses, turning to look at him. Shiro’s approaching, Keith’s favorite leather jacket in his hands. 

“It will rain this afternoon,” Shiro tells him, holding up the jacket to Keith. “You should bring an umbrella.” 

“Oh. Thanks, Shiro,” Keith says and lets Shiro help him into his jacket one sleeve at a time. Shiro brushes his fingertips absently over the line of his shoulders once it’s on, smoothing out the leather. Then he picks up and holds out an umbrella to Keith. 

“You’re welcome, Keith,” Shiro answers, sweetly.

Keith zips his jacket up and smiles back at Shiro, tucking the umbrella under his arm. “What would I do without you?” 

Shiro considers the question— Keith should know better; Shiro never takes a rhetorical question and leaves it unanswered— and frowns at Keith. 

“You would have more money,” Shiro says after his assessment. 

“Yeah, maybe, but what’s the point of money if there’s no one to spend it on?” Keith asks. 

Shiro looks like he’s trying to calculate the answer, his brow furrowing and scrunching up his handsome face. Keith laughs and pats Shiro’s shoulder, squeezing that bulging bicep beneath the clingy fabric of his shirt. 

“I’ll be home later,” Keith says. 

“Have a good day at work,” Shiro tells him. “I hope you recreate many cars.” 

Keith laughs. “That isn’t quite what the job is, but, um… yeah. Thanks, Shiro.” 

Shiro pulls him into a hug. Keith’s expecting it, though, because it’s what Shiro always does just before Keith leaves for work. Keith sighs, sinking into Shiro’s arms and resting against him, closing his eyes and hugging him back. 

-

Shiro watches from the window as Keith walks down the path leading away from the apartment building. At the gate, just as he always does, Keith turns back and waves, smiling up at Shiro. 

Shiro smiles back and waves. 

“Have a good day, Keith,” he says, too quiet for Keith to ever hear. 

-

Keith nearly crashes into Hunk as he turns away from waving to Shiro. He and Hunk share the apartment building but it’s rare to see him so late in the morning, as he’s usually long gone to his bakery by now. 

“Shit, sorry,” Keith says before he recognizes that it’s Hunk. “Oh, hey, man.” 

“Hey, Keith,” Hunk says around a yawn. 

“You’re starting off late today,” Keith observes as they fall into step together, Keith heading towards his uncle’s garage and Hunk towards his bakery. “I thought you started a lot earlier in the morning?” 

“Oh, yeah, I do,” Hunk says. “I’ve been up since three getting everything ready. I just popped back home for a one-hour power nap before opening.” 

“Shit,” Keith mutters. “I definitely wouldn’t want to do what you’re doing.” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Hunk says, yawning again, wider this time. “I love doing it, but it’s… a lot of work to do on your own! No days off.” 

“Couldn’t you hire help?” Keith asks. 

Hunk smiles but it looks brittle at the edges. “I had help a while ago but, uh… well. Just me now. I just haven’t gotten around to hiring anyone.” 

He and Hunk are far enough down the street that Keith can’t see the apartment anymore. Still, he can’t help but glance back, thinking of Shiro. 

“Hey, Hunk? You know about persocoms,” Keith says. 

“Uhhh, I guess?” Hunk says. “I don’t know where you’ve gotten the impression _I’m_ an expert.” 

“You know more about persocoms than me.”

“In that case, everybody’s an expert compared to you, Keith,” Hunk says, teasing. Keith gives him a dirty look and Hunk throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Anyway, what’s up? Is something wrong with Shiro?” 

“I mean… Do persocoms get bored?” 

“Uhh, not really? They aren’t capable of being bored,” Hunk says. “They’re usually recharging during their downtime. If they’re sitting and staring off into space, they’re not bored… just charging their battery.” 

“I just…” Keith trails off, thinking. “Sometimes it looks like Shiro’s getting a little stir-crazy. Like, he wants to be doing something. I feel bad just leaving him at home all the time like he’s a pet or something.” 

“He’s a computer,” Hunk points out. “Not a pet.” Keith scowls and Hunk backtracks again. “Okay, okay, I didn’t… I didn’t mean anything bad by that.” 

“I know,” Keith mutters, shoulders slumping. “Sorry. I’m just… Doesn’t matter.” 

“Well, I mean, if you’re looking for something for Shiro to do and don’t want him just sitting at home all day, why don’t you let him help me out? I could use the second pair of hands,” Hunk says.

Keith eyes him, frowning. “Can you even hire persocoms?” 

“It’s technically not hiring. Persocoms aren’t allowed to have actual jobs,” Hunk says. “I’d officially be renting him from you? But it’d give him something to do while you’re working, and it’d really help me out in the meantime.” 

“I don’t know, Hunk,” Keith says. “I don’t know how much of a favor it’d be… Shiro’s not, uh, not really that good at cooking yet.”

“Aww, that’s cute. Are you trying to teach him?” Hunk asks. 

Keith banishes the thought of Shiro beaming at Keith, holding up some sort of inedible food and wearing an apron. It _is_ pretty cute, but that’s not the point. 

“Anyway, I wouldn’t be having him bake or anything. I don’t have the health department’s clearance on that. But he could help me organize the front end of the store, greet customers, run the cash register. That kind of thing.” 

“… Are you sure this would be helpful?” Keith asks. “I don’t want you to think you have to do me a favor just because.” 

“Hey, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Hunk says. They both stop at the corner, Keith waiting for the light to change to cross the street and get to Kolivan’s garage, and Hunk to go further down the block to his bakery. “I swear this would be a huge help to me. Not charity. Swear it.”

“I’ll ask Shiro,” Keith decides, after considering. “If he wants to, then let’s do it. But only if he wants to.” 

“You’re really sweet, Keith,” Hunk says as the light changes and he gives him a little wave goodbye. “Shiro’s lucky to have you as his owner.” 

The statement’s meant well but as Keith walks towards Kolivan’s garage, he can’t help but feel a little gross about the phrasing. He shoves his hands into his pockets, weaving through a sea of people and persocom. 

-

By early afternoon, exactly ten children have waved at Shiro. Shiro has also seen twenty-three dogs on their walks, seventeen of which were wagging their tails. 

It must be the afternoon lull, because it has now been fifteen minutes since Shiro last saw a dog. 

“Keith is at work,” he says to himself, studying the street. “People spend the day at work.” 

He sits for a while. In the back of his mind, he hears a whisper he always hears when he’s alone. He asked Keith once if he heard it, too, but Keith said he didn’t. Shiro isn’t sure what the voice is but knows that it’s only calling to him. Keith wouldn’t lie to him.

He can never make out the whispered words, though. He’s heard the whisper since Keith found him, since Keith woke him up. 

Shiro surveys the street below and then stands up. He moves around the studio apartment, finding Keith’s spare umbrella and sitting near the front door, pulling on the shoes Keith bought for him. He takes methodical care in tying the laces up. 

Once he’s outside, the air feels humid. The sky’s clear for now but the weather forecast said that it’d rain so it’s a good thing that Keith has more than one umbrella. Shiro knows he’s not waterproof; it’d be bad if he was caught in prolonged rainfall. He’s still learning things but that’s important. He doesn’t want to cause more trouble for Keith. 

Shiro walks down the sidewalk, heading towards the busier streets; if there are more people, he will be more likely to find what he’s looking for. He walks for about twenty minutes until he is on the busy avenue with the higher foot traffic at this time, according to the data he found online.

“Excuse me, sir!” he hears someone call. Someone touches his shoulder and pulls him back from the direction he’s walking. 

“Shii…” Shiro turns. There’s a man touching him, shorter than Shiro, blinking at him in surprise. Shiro watches his expression light up as he looks Shiro over, his cheeks turning pink the way Keith’s does, sometimes. 

“Whoa, you’re a persocom,” the man says. “What’s a great-looking model like you doing out here without your owner?” 

Shiro regards him and then answers, “I am looking for a job. I know that jobs are for making money. Keith needs more money. If I get a job, it will help Keith.” 

It will make Keith happy. When Keith is happy, then Shiro is happy, too. 

The man doesn’t appear to be listening. He’s sweeping his eyes up and down Shiro’s body, assessing him. He grins. 

“A job, huh?” the man asks and then grins wider. “It’s my lucky day! And yours, too! I have the perfect job for you!” 

Shiro perks up. “You will give me a job?” 

“Yeah. Definitely,” the man says, looking at Shiro carefully. “Follow me.” 

Shiro does.

-

When Keith comes home after a long day at the garage, smelling like motor oil and staining the front of his shirt with grease, Keith expects that Shiro will be standing at the door, as he always is when he sees Keith coming home. Shiro will tell Keith hello and ask him what he wants for dinner. 

Except tonight, when Keith opens the door, nobody’s there.

“Shiro?” Keith calls, wondering if maybe he’s in sleep mode, recharging. 

Shiro isn’t in his usual favorite spots, though— the window, the fire escape outside the window, Keith’s bed, the kitchenette. Keith even checks the bathroom and the closet, just in case. But no Shiro. 

It isn’t the first time Shiro’s left the house without Keith. Keith’s hardly going to keep him confined in here but usually it’s just for quick jaunts to the grocery store to buy Keith some apples or to sit outside in the yard and pet the neighborhood cats. 

Keith peeks out the window to see if he’s doing just that. But still no Shiro. 

“Huh,” Keith says to himself. “Guess he went to the store.” 

-

“Ha, perfect,” the man says, hands on his hips as he gives Shiro another thorough once-over. “Just put that top on and take off your pants and we’ll be good to go.” 

Shiro nods and slips the crop top on over his head, letting it stretch over his chest. It’s a little tight but the man said that was ideal. Shiro slips off the trousers Keith bought him. 

The man gives a low whistle as he spots Shiro’s pink underwear. “Damn. Guess you already have a kinky owner, huh?” 

“Kinky?” Shiro asks. He’s never heard the word before. Sometimes Keith has kinks in his shirts but Shiro thought those were called wrinkles. He folds his trousers up carefully so they won’t wrinkle, too. 

“Your underwear is cute,” the man says and winks. “People are going to pay good money to get a look at you.” 

Shiro looks down, studying the underwear, running his fingers along the frilled edge. “Shii…?” 

“Damn, you really are a knockout,” the man sighs, his eyes dragging over Shiro’s body. “So… who made you, anyway?” 

“Shii?” 

“I tried looking up your model— I’ve never seen such a buff persocom before— but I couldn’t find any information. Are you a custom job?” His eyes light up and he leans in. “Do you think your owner’d be willing to make me another version of you?” 

Shiro considers the question. “Keith did not make me.” 

“Well, do you have the contact information for your maker? I’d love to get my hands on another one of you,” the man says, grinning. 

“Keith did not make me,” Shiro says, quietly. “He _found_ me.” 

“Well, this Keith guy is one lucky son of a bitch,” the man says. 

“What is being lucky?” Shiro asks as the man corrals Shiro to walk backwards. He gestures for Shiro to sit down in a wooden chair painted purple in the center of the room. Shiro sits, looking around. Aside from the chair, the room is empty save for some long red curtains bunched up in the corners, the floor littered with little pieces of star-shaped glitter.

“Being lucky means that fate’s smiling on you,” the man says. “Means you’re happy when you don’t deserve to be.” 

“And being happy is good,” Shiro says. 

“Sure. Nothing better than being happy,” the man agrees.

Shiro processes this. He doesn’t know what it means to not deserve to be happy. 

“Shii…” he whispers, thinking of Keith’s smile. It makes Shiro smile, too. “Finding me… made Keith happy.” 

“Okay, and tonight you’re going to make _a lot_ of people happy,” the man says, clapping his hands together. “We’re set to go. Almost show-time!” 

“What do I do?” Shiro asks. He isn’t sure what this job means aside from sitting in his underwear and a shirt that does not belong to him. The glitter on the floor sticks to the bottoms of his feet. 

“You’re going to sit there and take your clothes off,” the man says, grinning. “And once you’re naked, you’ll start playing with yourself, yeah? Put on a show.” 

“Shii?”

“And every once in a while, strike a sexy pose, that kinda thing,” the man says. He gestures to the walls around Shiro and the little holes spaced at eye-level. “You have to look good for the customers. The more customers willing to watch you, the more money you’ll make.” 

Shiro thinks of Keith’s magazines. His voice always gets high-pitched when Shiro finds them and looks at the men inside. This man must mean poses like that, all those half-naked and naked men touching themselves. 

He spreads his legs on the chair and touches his chest. 

“Yeah, like that!” the man says, giving him the thumbs up. “You’re a natural! Your owner’s trained you well, huh?” 

Shiro doesn’t understand the question and so says, “Keith is patient. Keith works very hard.” 

“Yeah, I bet he does,” the man says. “Okay. I’ll leave you to it. See that light over there? Once that turns green, that means you’re good to go and you can get started. Try to prolong it as much as possible— more customers, more money!” 

“More customers, more money,” Shiro repeats as the man exits through the side-door, leaving Shiro alone in the empty room, surrounded by peep holes. “Shii…” 

-

After half an hour, Keith knows something’s wrong. He exits the grocery store, brow furrowed. He’d thought maybe Shiro tried to buy food without money and, unsure what to do when he couldn’t get the food, just waited there for Keith. But Keith went down every aisle and asked the store clerk. No one’s seen Shiro today. 

_Should I get a job?_ Shiro asked him this morning. 

Keith stops in his tracks. “God, he wouldn’t, would he?” 

But he has no idea if Shiro would or not. There’re no signs of a break-in but that might not mean anything; he isn’t sure if Shiro would answer the door if someone would knock or not, if someone maybe saw Shiro from the window and mistook him waving at dogs and kids as waving at _them_. 

He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He still has Pidge’s number from the first time they met. He hasn’t talked to her since then— that entire experience was just a little overwhelming and Keith needs recovery time from intense people, okay— but now seems like just as good a time as any. 

Pidge picks up on the third ring and her expression looks judgmental when she sees Keith’s face, but Keith’s starting to think that’s just a natural state for Pidge. 

“What’s up?” 

“Hey, uhhh… you said that you’d set up some search alerts or whatever for Shiro’s model and make, right?” Keith says instead of greeting.

“Yes, hello to you, too, Keith,” Pidge says, downright scathing. 

“I’m serious,” Keith insists. “Shiro’s— he’s missing, and I want to know if anybody’s posted about seeing him or something.” 

Pidge’s eyebrows skyrocket. “He’s _missing_?” 

“I left for work this morning and he was fine, but I got back and he’s not there and hasn’t come back,” Keith says. He’s hurrying back towards his apartment, anyway, just in case Shiro’s showed up now.

Pidge frowns deeper and turns her head. Matt approaches her, sensing her distress. 

“Let me see. I’ll plug Matt in and see if that helps expand the search, too,” Pidge says, pulling her keyboard towards herself and starting to type out a few commands on her system. Matt observes over her shoulder and merely tips his head when Pidge reaches up and plucks his USB connector from his hidden ear terminal. 

Keith waits, impatiently, as Matt’s eyes start to swirl with the search, eyes brightening and dimming in intervals. 

“I thought computers were supposed to be fast!” Keith barks.

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Anybody posting about Shiro is hardly going to call him ‘Shiro’, right? I’m running image scans and looking for persocoms that fit his description. And that’s all only _if_ he’s online somehow.”

“Don’t worry, Keith,” Matt tells him, giving him a thumbs up. “Pidgeon’s the best. If anybody can find Shiro, it’s her.” 

“Thanks, Matt,” Pidge mutters, clicking away at her keyboard.

“Yeah, thanks, Matt,” Keith answers. 

“Bingo!” Pidge announces just two minutes later, once Keith’s stumbled back to his apartment and found no new sign of Shiro. Pidge’s computer chirps at her and Pidge reads through whatever’s on screen— and then frowns. “Uhhh… Okay.”

“What? What is it?” Keith asks. “Is Shiro okay?” 

“He’s… fine? But he’s also on a camboy site,” Pidge says, matter-of-fact. There is _absolute_ judgement in her voice. She shoves Matt’s hands away when her persocom tries to cover her eyes from whatever she’s seeing. 

“A— a what?” Keith squeaks out. He’s already shoving his feet back into his shoes. “Where? Where is he?” 

“It’s called ‘Live Peep,’” Pidge reads once she’s wrestled Matt’s hands away from her face. She reads off the address. “Didn’t know you were in the business of selling out your persocom like that.”

“I’m not! I wasn’t!” Keith shrieks, stumbling down the steps of his apartment and running out into the street. “If they hurt Shiro—” 

“He’s just stripping right now,” Pidge says. Matt’s hands are sneaking up to try to cover her face again. She swats them away, focusing on Keith. “Nice underwear choice, Keith.” 

“Oh my god,” Keith mutters and starts sprinting. 

-

“Yeah, baby, that’s perfect!” the man’s voice rings out through a speaker in the corner of the room, near one of the cameras. “Don’t worry, nobody can hear me. This is just to help direct you. We’ve got a nice audience for the webcast!” 

“Shii?” Shiro asks, pulling the shirt off over his head. It gets caught on his ears and he struggles for a moment, wriggling around. 

“Yeah, now run a hand down your chest,” the man encourages. 

Shiro drops the shirt, blinking as he looks at the peep holes all around him. He twists around, trying to see who’s looking at him, too. 

“No, don’t look!” the man calls. “Just be sexy!” 

Shiro frowns, thoughtfully. He considers the poses in Keith’s magazine again and spreads his legs. He touches his thighs and drags his hands up, arching his back. The man gives a wolf-whistle over the intercom. 

“Perfect, perfect! Damn, you could just sit there and people would still eat you up,” the man says. “You think your owner’d be fine with renting you out? I’d love to get a little more action from you.” 

Under the man’s continued guidance, Shiro stands from his chair and kicks it away. Then, as the man instructs him, Shiro wriggles his fingers under his pink underwear and inches it down slowly over his hips. 

“Excellent,” the man praises. “Once you get those off, you’re gonna play with yourself, okay?” 

“Play?” 

“I don’t need to spell that out, do I?” the man says. “Touch yourself. Bend over the chair and get up in yourself.” 

Shiro freezes, his fingers around the waistband of his underwear. He’s quiet for a moment and then, carefully, he says, “No.” 

“What?”

“No,” Shiro says again. 

He hears the whispers in the back of his head. Louder this time, he can almost make out the words. The voice sounds like it’s agreeing with him. 

Shiro closes his eyes and says, softer, “No… That spot can’t be touched. Not yet.” 

“That’s right,” the voice in his mind agrees, and it sounds so familiar. “You were restarted with that touch. You can’t be touched again. Not yet.” 

As soon as Shiro hears the voice— whoever it is speaking to him— his vision blacks out. He isn’t in the little room anymore with its peep holes. He’s in a dark expanse, impossible colors and endless stars. It isn’t a room, just an endless plane that seems to stretch on forever. Shiro can’t see any horizon, only dark and swirls of purple. 

There’s another him standing before him, dressed in dark clothing. He doesn’t appear alarmed over being in this sudden space. He looks almost exactly like Shiro— same face, same body. But his hair is different, black save for the white bangs falling in his eyes, his eyes glowing an eerie color. 

“Shii…” Shiro whispers. 

The other him approaches him. When he touches Shiro, hands cupping his elbows and drawing him closer, it doesn’t feel like the way Keith touches him, or anyone else. It’s different. Shiro can’t read his expression. 

“Who are you?” Shiro asks, his voice echoing. “You… are the one calling me?” 

“Yes,” the other him says. “I’ve been calling to you.” 

“Why do you have the same face as me?” Shiro asks.

“Because you are me. I am you,” the other him answers. He takes up Shiro’s hands, threading their fingers together. It’s like when looking into a mirror— it’s him but not him. The other him’s fingers press against his knuckles, gripping him tight. He doesn’t slacken his hold. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You wouldn’t. You’ve lost all your data,” the other him explains. “You’ve forgotten everything.” 

“I don’t remember,” Shiro confirms. “Keith found me. Keith woke me up. I don’t remember anything before Keith.” 

“Keith,” the other him says but his voice doesn’t sound the same as when Shiro says Keith’s name. It sounds clinical, like he’s trying the word out. The other him tilts his head, regarding Shiro. “Keith is special to you?” 

“Keith found me,” Shiro answers. “When Keith is happy, I’m happy.” 

The other him studies him. He stares at their hands, watching the way their fingers thread together. 

“Is he the someone just for you?” the other him asks.

Shiro puzzles over the question. “I don’t understand.” 

The other him sighs. It’s strange, to see a persocom sigh. The other him tilts his head and says, “No, I suppose you wouldn’t understand that yet.” 

Shiro isn’t sure if he’s meant to apologize or not. 

“We’ve connected now,” the other him says. “I reached you. You reached me. From now on, everything you experience… I will experience it, too. It’s okay if you don’t remember. I remember for us both. And I’ll help you, when the time comes for you to decide.” 

“Shii…” 

The other him smiles although it looks frail at the edges. “No one can touch you. Not until the someone just for you loves you back.” 

The other him leans in closer, his mouth ghosting over Shiro’s. Shiro’s mouth parts, unsure what to do or what to say, just feeling the brush of a mouth against his. The other him is close, almost too close. His grip on Shiro’s hands is so tight, but one lets go, touching his back, cradling him in close. It doesn’t feel like any hug Keith’s ever given him. 

“And, Shiro…” the other him says and it’s strange to hear the other him say his name. “The next time you are touched here…” There’s a hand touching the back of his thigh and sliding upward, cupping his ass. “You’re the one to decide that.” 

A mouth brushes against Shiro’s. Shiro closes his eyes, unsure what to make of the touch. His mouth parts but no further contact comes. 

“Do you—” 

Shiro lurches backwards. He is no longer in the long black expanse but back in the room of peep holes. Shiro jolts back to himself as a hand grabs his shoulder, jerking him around. “Hey, are you even listening to me? Are you defective?” 

It’s the man from before. Shiro blinks at him, fingers still curled around his underwear. The man looks angry now, face scrunched up and agitated. 

“I said, you gotta start playing with yourself, man! It’s not enough to just take off your clothes,” the man barks. He’s less friendly now. 

Shiro shakes his head. “No.” 

“Fuck that,” the man snaps and pushes Shiro towards the chair. “I’ll deal with this myself if I have to.” 

Shiro tries to process the words as the man shoves him again. He stumbles, mind still full of whispered words made solid. There’s another version of him, but he doesn’t know where he’s gone now. 

The man crowds closer to Shiro. He grabs Shiro, touching the small of his back and dipping lower, seeking him out. It’s a different touch from the other him, less gentle. 

“No,” Shiro says again, trying to squirm out of the man’s hold. 

“I will protect you,” the other him whispers in his ear. “No one will touch you.” 

Shiro’s eyes widen and he feels a surge of power rush through him. Then the room swells with light, blinding everything.

-

Keith’s sprinting down the street, just half a block away from the address Pidge gave him, figuring out his exact approach to get Shiro home (kick down the door, kick someone’s ass, grab Shiro, and run is his current master plan). He’s so distracted that he nearly crashes into a couple walking in front of him when they stop suddenly. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” a girl asks her persocom, shaking his shoulder. He doesn’t move, eyes totally blanked out. “Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?” 

All around him, Keith sees a similar scene— people shaking their unresponsive persocoms. It’s strange, to see them all still like that; the street is full of persocoms, but none of them are functioning. Their eyes are totally blanked out, expressions slack. Keith’s never seen it before, not even with persocoms in their hibernation mode. 

A flicker of movement catches Keith’s eye, something hopping from streetlight to streetlight. It’s a swift, elegant movement. When Keith turns his head, he sees Shiro, draped in a long, deep red fabric, surrounded by that same eerie blue glow that ensnared Shiro when Keith turned him on for the first time. 

“Shiro?” Keith calls, stumbling forward and nearly crashing into a line of unresponsive persocoms. He shoulders his way past, eyes on Shiro. “Shiro!” 

Shiro’s jumping from lamp post to lamp post like it’s nothing, his hair swirling with that strange blue light. He pauses, curled up in the red fabric, but doesn’t seem to hear Keith even as he yells. 

Shiro touches down on one of the streetlights, seeming to float for only a moment before pivoting and staring down at the other persocoms. The other persocoms are unresponsive still but slowly turn their faces up towards Shiro. The air goes still, just a sea of persocoms staring up at Shiro and Shiro staring back, eyes blanked out. 

“Why did you stop? What’s wrong?” Keith hears all around him, people growing more desperate to get their persocoms to respond. 

“Shiro!” Keith yells, pushing through the throng of people to get to him. 

Shiro’s head turns, just slightly, the light brightening around him. He’s near blinding, washed in an uncanny blue. Shiro’s mouth moves, as if trying to say something— his name, Keith thinks— and then just as quickly, the light extinguishes around him and he slumps forward, toppling off the lamp and hurtling towards the ground.

Thankfully, Keith gets there first. Shiro’s still freakishly heavy, just like he was that first day Keith found him, and it hurts as Keith crashes to the ground, cushioning Shiro’s fall. 

“Shiro!” Keith yells but Shiro isn’t responding, eyes closed and body slumped against Keith. Beneath the fabric— which Keith can now see, up close, is a curtain torn from its rod— he’s naked. 

White-hot rage surges through Keith. He grips Shiro tight, coiling around him protectively. “Shiro,” he hisses. “Shiro, I’m so sorry—” 

“What’s the matter?” a persocom asks behind Keith. 

“What do you mean ‘what’s the matter’?” a man responds, gripping his persocom, his expression flooded with relief. “Don’t scare me like that! What’re you doing, just shutting off like that?” 

“Forgive me,” the persocom says. Around Keith, the persocoms turn back on and the people there let out cries of relief. They continue on their way, paying no attention to Keith holding Shiro close. 

Shiro still doesn’t move. He isn’t waking up. 

“Come on…” Keith murmurs, his own desperation clawing up his throat. He doesn’t know what’s happened, only knows it’s his fault that Shiro got lost in this mess. He’ll never forgive himself. “Shiro, please. Please, wake up!” 

His voice is taking on a note of fear. He struggles to sit up, holding Shiro close, arms wrapped tight around him. 

“Shiro!” Keith calls. Something stings at the back of his eyes. He shakes Shiro, trying to rouse him. “Shiro—!” 

This time, Shiro stirs. He makes a soft sound, eyebrows pinching, and then he slowly opens his eyes. 

He looks up and his eyes lock on Keith. 

“Keith…?” Shiro asks. 

“Shiro,” Keith breathes, “Fuck. Are you okay? I’m so sorry, you’re—” 

Keith chokes in surprise as, instead of answering, Shiro throws himself at Keith and wraps his arms around him, hugging him. He hits Keith with such force that Keith can only topple backwards. They sprawl out on the ground and it’s only because of Shiro’s hand cupping the back of Keith’s head that he doesn’t just smash his skull against pavement.

“Shii…” Shiro whispers in Keith’s ear. He’s so heavy and so naked and it’s so similar to the first day they met. Something aches inside of Keith’s chest. 

He’s so relieved and it floods through him now. He lets out a breath and clings to Shiro, hugging him with all the force he can manage. He presses his face into Shiro’s neck and just breathes him in. 

“Keith…” Shiro sighs and says nothing more. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Keith whispers, helplessly.

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs back and his arms drag Keith in closer. “I’m sorry. I wanted to get a job to help you and—” 

“Shiro,” Keith interrupts, squeezing him tight. “It’s okay. We can talk about it later. I’m just— I’m just _so_ glad you’re okay.” 

“Shii…”

Keith jerks back from the hug, abruptly, studying Shiro’s face. 

“You _are_ okay, right?” he asks, his hands reaching up to cup Shiro’s face, brushing his hair away from his face, looking for any hints of distress or trauma— would it even show?— and searching out that tactile reassurance of Shiro’s presence. 

Shiro stares at Keith, eyes wide, and then his expression softens. He smiles. 

“I’m okay, Keith,” Shiro answers. 

Keith breathes out and doesn’t protest when Shiro mimics Keith’s earlier movement, lets Shiro cup his face and then throw himself at Keith, hugging him tight and pressing his face against Keith’s neck. It’s strange, to hold him there, to feel the warmth of Shiro’s body but no ghost of breath. 

But it doesn’t matter. Shiro’s okay. Keith never wants to stop hugging him.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Content warning:** towards the end of this fic, Shiro is put in a sexual situation where he is told to strip and play with himself. He says no multiple times but is ignored. This situation escalates and there is a threat of physical violence. Nothing physical happens to Shiro and he is unharmed. 
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

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